


Wall of Brass

by JJJunky



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJJunky/pseuds/JJJunky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris must prove himself to his shipmates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wall of Brass

Wall of Brass  
By JJJunky

Let this be your wall of brass,  
to have nothing on your conscience,  
no guilt to make you turn pale.  
Bishop Samuel Horsley  
1733-1806

 

Raucous laughter rose above the clatter of silverware and the conversations of the other off-duty personnel. Against their will, Murob's eyes were drawn to the table where most of the high spirits emanated. As he'd expected, Lieutenant Tom Paris was the center of attention. The story the Human was telling initiated another loud reaction from his audience. Murob angrily looked away and focused his narrowed gaze on his food. His three-fingered hand gripped his fork with a force that bent it.

"I surrender. I surrender!"

Almost dropping the utensil in amazement, Murob twisted in his seat, his training drawing his attention to the woman standing behind him. As his partner set down her tray and slipped into the empty seat across from him, he shifted his eyes in embarrassment.

"So," Jessica Stern asked, smiling at her frowning colleague, "whose neck was that poor fork substituting for?"

Murob's gaze rested on the revelers in the corner. The hood that shielded his eyes also hid his feelings - from everyone except the person sharing his table. Though they'd only become partners since the Starfleet and Maquis vessels had joined forces in the Delta Quadrant, they'd grown close. Closer than it was wise for security guards to become. He respected her experience and skills. A soft sigh from his companion demonstrated her ability to read his thoughts.

"He isn't as bad as you want to believe," Stern gently admonished.

"Who?" the Cylopsian asked, feigning ignorance.

"Paris."

"So you have joined his fan club, too."

"No," the petite redhead denied, "I just understand where he's coming from."

The noise Murob made was more closely aligned to a snort of disbelief than the laughter it was. "How could you possibly compare yourself to him?"

"Has anyone you were assigned to guard ever been killed?" Stern asked, indifferently picking at her food.

"No."

Pushing her plate to the center of the table, Stern confessed, "I was on an away mission with a young science officer. He insisted on entering a cave before I'd thoroughly checked it. A sand bat got him."

"He was foolish. His death was not your fault."

"Starfleet agreed with you. That's why I was allowed to resign my commission." Her hands shook as Stern whispered. "Their understanding doesn't make that ensign's death easier to bear."

Laughter insinuated itself between them. Anger deepened Murob's normally high voice, "At least you did not lie."

"I might've if I'd been under the same pressures Paris was subjected to."

"Pressures?" Murob sneered. "His father is an admiral."

"Who had great expectations for his son."

"That should make no difference."

"On your world, that might be normal behavior. With Humans, it's different. Sometimes, we bend, even break, under such pressure. From the minute Tom Paris entered, the Academy every decision he made was analyzed and dissected by his instructors and his father. I think it says a lot that he even graduated."

"He was responsible for the deaths of three officers," Murob relentlessly pressed.

"He knows that better than anyone."

"Yet, he wears no mourning shroud." Another outburst brought a disdainful sneer to Murob's lips, "He can even laugh in public."

Stern let her fingers run gently across a scar that circled her left wrist. "Humans don't view death the same as Cylopsians. Your people see death as a stepping stone to a higher form of life. For the most part, we Humans see it as the end of life."

"This must bring you great sorrow and discomfort."

"Not really," Stern sighed as her fingers curled around her thin wrist. "Sometimes, it's a release from pain."

The comm unit buzzed, quieting the diners.

THIS IS THE CAPTAIN. ALL SENIOR OFFICERS REPORT TO THE CONFERENCE ROOM.

Janeway's announcement brought groans to the lips of Kim and Torres. For Paris, it was a relief. Pushing aside his half-eaten meal, he rose. He could feel the hatred. It was almost tangible. He knew he should be hardened to the sentiment. Since that day at Caldik Prime, it'd become a large part of his world. He didn't know who despised him and he didn't want to know. The knowledge would not free him from the chains that inexorably bound him to what he'd done. Those bonds were made of trititanium. Nothing would ever break them.

With a sigh of relief, Paris led his friends from the mess hall. The doors closed behind them only partially blocking the enmity he'd felt within its walls. If he'd been alone, he would've given in to the pain that made his stomach churn and his head ache. Would it ever get easier?

Doubt still swirled through his mind like a creeping fog as Paris entered the conference room. Chakotay and Tuvok had already taken seats on either side of the captain. Despite, or maybe because of, his own emotional turmoil, Paris could feel the tension that rippled between Janeway and her first officer.

When the three officers had taken empty seats, Janeway said, "Sensors have discovered a planet in the early stages of development, approximately where Earth was five hundred million years ago." Pushing her chair back, she rose. "Commander Chakotay would like to lead an Away Team to investigate. Though I feel the danger isn't worth the risk, I've reluctantly agreed to his request with the stipulation that participation will be strictly voluntary." 

Chakotay appeared unaffected by the restriction. Excitement audible in his voice, he elaborated, "We believe this planet to be in what Earth calls the Paleozoic Era around the Devonian Period. If its development parallels Class M planets in our own quadrant, earthquakes and volcanoes will still be shaping the crust. Life in the form of reptiles and amphibians should just be emerging."

"Wow!" Kim could barely contain his excitement. A quick glance at Tuvok sobered him. "I'd like to volunteer, Commander."

"I was thinking you might," Chakotay smiled.

Frowning slightly, Janeway asked, "Who else do you want on your team?"

"Geophysicist Blake and Mr. Paris," Chakotay quickly replied, his gaze resting briefly on the lieutenant. "The atmosphere is heavily charged with electromagnetic particles, which makes it too dangerous to use the transporters. It's going to take a skilled pilot to guide a shuttle safely through the asteroid belt circling the planet."

"Mr. Paris?" Janeway's tone softened as she reiterated, "Remember this is strictly voluntary. Should you choose to decline, it won't go on your record."

For a brief second, Paris considered his choices. A voice inside his head was telling him not to go. Ignoring the mental warning, he nodded agreement. "I'd like to volunteer, Captain."

Janeway gently probed, "Are you sure?" 

"Yes, Ma'am."

Disbelief flashed across the stern features, but Janeway didn't press the issue. "Mr. Chakotay, contact Ensign Blake, see if she's agreeable. I also want you to take two security guards. Mr. Tuvok?"

"The team listed on the duty roster will be notified, Captain," the Vulcan acknowledged.

"Be sure you make it clear, participation is purely voluntary," Janeway repeated. Standing over her first officer, she announced, "You have one hour to assemble your team and equipment."

"We'll be ready," Chakotay assured her, rising.

As the other officers rose to follow the commander from the room, Janeway called, "A minute, Mr. Paris." She waited until the door closed before she continued, "I know things haven't been easy for you, Tom. There are those who feel you don't deserve your commission. Obviously, I'm not one of them. You don't need to go on this mission to prove anything to me or anyone else. It's not too late to back out."

"I want to go, Captain."

"That's not the impression I received."

Avoiding his superior's eyes, Paris crossed to the window. Barely visible through the debris cloud that surrounded it was the planet. "Have you ever felt like you shouldn't do something, even though you wanted to?"

"I think we all have, at one time or another," Janeway admitted, sitting on the edge of the conference table and crossing her arms.

"Did you do it anyway?"

"Usually."

"Have you ever regretted your decision?"

"Not that I can remember," Janeway said, her puzzled gaze resting on the younger man.

Leaning his forehead against the cool surface of the window, Paris closed his eyes, "I had a premonition at Caldik Prime. I ignored it."

"You were following orders."

"Funny," Paris mirthlessly laughed and re-opened his eyes, "if I'd listened to my instincts, I wouldn't be here now."

"Then maybe you should listen this time?" 

"I want to," Paris admitted, "but I can't."

"Why not?" 

"Because there's another voice that's telling me to go." Pushing away from the window, Paris turned to face his Captain. Forcing a smile, he observed, "Maybe I'm schizophrenic?"

"This isn't something to joke about, Tom."

"I know. I just don't know what else to do."

Crossing to her pilot's side, Janeway put a hand on his shoulder, "Maybe it's time to follow your instincts."

"Which one?" Paris demanded in frustration. "The one that tells me to go or the one that tells me I shouldn't?"

"Which voice is more compelling?"

Paris stood quietly for a few minutes listening to the voices only he could hear. Finally, he shook his head, "I'm not sure."

"I don't know how to advise you," Janeway helplessly admitted. "This isn't something they teach us at the Academy."

His eyes drawn to the planet, Paris made his decision. "Navigating through that debris cloud will take every piece of training and skill I've got. I never could pass up a challenge."

* * * *

Crouched in a cramped corner of the shuttle, Stern double-checked the phasers, making sure each was set for stun and fully charged. Confident that she had done all she could to ensure the safety of the team, she closed the weapons locker. Crossing to the open hatch, she smiled at her partner's obvious excitement. Murob's arms drew intricate patterns in the space around him as he addressed his audience. Obviously a bit intimidated by the burly Cylopsian, Kim and Blake took a few steps back, their instinct for self-preservation stronger than their curiosity. Murob was too green to know the true perils they faced. If he was lucky, he never would.

"Everything all set, Lieutenant?" 

Despite her training, Stern jumped when Chakotay suddenly appeared at her side. Ever since she'd joined the Indian's Maquis crew, she'd tried to imitate his stealthy movements. So far, she'd failed. "All set, Commander." It still felt strange to be so formal with her old captain. "Are you going to pilot the shuttle yourself, Sir?"

"No," Chakotay said, looking anxiously toward the entrance to the shuttlebay. "Unless he's changed his mind, Mr. Paris will be our pilot."

"Would it make much difference if he did? You're a good pilot. You sure showed the Cardi's and Starfleet what a ship could do."

"I have the skills," Chakotay agreed. "But, I don't have the instinct Paris has."

Stern knew what that admission had cost her former commander. Though Chakotay had pledged to protect Paris from Maquis retribution, it was obvious that he still didn't like the lieutenant. It would take more than a single act of bravery for the stubborn man to alter his opinion.

"It looks like he hasn't changed his mind." Chakotay sighed in relief at Paris' appearance. "Let's get on board."

His face set in an emotionless mask that Stern recognized as fear, Paris took his place in the pilot's seat. Chakotay climbed into the co-pilot's chair while Kim and Blake strapped themselves in behind him. After securing the hatch, Stern took an empty seat next to her partner. The shuttle trembled as the engines came to life.

Stern felt her heart leap with anticipation. She'd always loved seeing new things, exploring new worlds. Space was where she belonged. The only place she was truly happy. Even the knowledge that she was expected to sacrifice her life couldn't dampen her enthusiasm. Only her own failure to do her duty had done that.

The shuttle rose smoothly. Stern shifted her gaze to the viewscreen. They'd barely left _Voyager's_ shuttlebay when they found themselves entering the debris field. Her knuckles turned white as she tightened her grip on the arms of her seat. The small craft bucked and spun as though it were out of control. Stern could see sweat beading on Paris' brow, yet she wasn't scared. Earlier that same face had reflected undisguised fear. Now, it shone with confidence. Fingers flashed skillfully across the console. When they emerged from the asteroid belt it felt as though they'd been given a reprieve. The remainder of the flight was uneventful - to Stern's relief.

They landed on a treeless plain with a gentle bump. Slipping out of the harness that had saved her from being thrown around the compartment, Stern crossed to the weapons locker. Pulling out six phasers, she checked them a third time before passing them out.

"The air is breathable," Kim reported, retrieving a tricorder. "However, the humidity registers at over 150 percent."

"That means we'll have to take things easy," Chakotay acknowledged. Crossing to the hatch, he pressed the button that would open it, "No running or other strenuous activity if you can avoid it."

"We should each carry a canteen of water," Paris added. "With humidity this high, dehydration is a real danger."

"Sound advice," Kim gasped, stepping out into the yellowish light and breathing in the heavy air.

Chakotay made a quick sweep with his tricorder. His face reflected the wonder of his discoveries. "This place is incredible! In the most basic way its development seems to parallel the planets in our own quadrant, yet with enough differences to keep the science department happy for the rest of our journey, even if it does take seventy-five years."

"Where do you want to start, Commander?" Blake asked, her eyes never leaving the screen of her own delicately tuned instrument.

"You and I'll go that way," Chakotay decided, pointing to his right. "Mr. Kim, you and Mr. Paris will go the opposite way. We'll head out for a kilometer, then circle back. Stay within the limits I've set," he cautioned, catching the eyes of each member of his team in turn. "We don't want to get too far apart. The EM particles will prevent us from using our comm badges to keep in touch. We'll meet back here in two hours."

"How do you want security deployed, sir?" Stern formally inquired, conscious of the younger members of the away team.

"However you see fit, Lieutenant. I trust your judgment."

Aware of Murob's enmity for Paris, Stern assigned him to the first officer, a position she normally would have taken herself. She knew she would have to work on changing the Cylopsian's attitude. One day, he would be forced to guard the Human. He had to be taught to put personal feelings aside and do his job. Or, he could find himself committed to a mental health facility - as his partner had been.

* * * *

Conflicting emotions vied for dominance as Janeway watched the continuously changing surface of the planet. She was bored, as the fingers of her right hand indicated. The incessant tapping of her nails against the arm of her chair was beginning to get on her own nerves. To herself, she could be honest and admit that she was also envious. If she'd still been a science officer, nothing could've prevented her from leading the Away Team. Being the captain of a starship had its disadvantages. It wouldn't prevent her from ever leaving the ship again, but in their present circumstances, she would have to be selective. She could no longer lead away teams just to satisfy her curiosity. Her responsibility to her crew was even greater here than it had been in their own quadrant.

Her brow furrowed as her eyes strayed to the pilot's seat. She missed Paris' presence. He had a way of easing the inevitable tension that resulted from their predicament. Even those who outwardly showed their disdain were drawn to him. Janeway knew that if anything happened, she would blame herself. Considering his obvious distress, she could have - should have - ordered him to remain on board. Would his doubts jeopardize his life or the lives of his companions?

"Captain?"

Torres demanding voice claimed Janeway's attention. Shifting her gaze to her Chief Engineer, she forced her fingers to be still, "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"We've got at least two hours before the Away Team returns," Torres noted, glancing at the viewscreen. "I'd like to take the warp engines off-line. Scans have detected a possible weakening in the wall of the warp core."

"Is Voyager in danger?"

"If the core cracks, we'd have to jettison it to save the ship."

"Without the resources or means to reproduce another," Janeway elaborated. "It wouldn't take us seventy years to get home; it'd take us seventy thousand."

Obviously gratified that her superior understood her concern, Torres dutifully warned, "It could be a false reading."

"We can't take that chance," Janeway decided, rising to her feet. "Are we far enough from the planet to keep out of its gravitational pull?"

"To be safe, we should move out another hundred kilometers."

"Ensign," Janeway ordered, addressing Paris' replacement, "take us out to one-one-three mark eight."

"Aye, Captain."

Hands slower than those Janeway was accustomed to moved across the console. On the heels of this realization came another. The Away Team would try to rendezvous with them at their old co-ordinates. There was no way to transmit their new position. "Mr. Tuvok," Janeway called, "I want a continual scan made of the area we just left. The shuttle might return early."

"Radiation from the asteroid belt has affected the sensors, Captain," the Vulcan advised. "We may not be receiving accurate readings."

"Do it anyway." Janeway sighed, wondering what else could go wrong.

* * * *

As he followed in Harry's wake, Paris kept his attention focused on his tricorder. Unlike his friend, whose constant cries of wonder were wearing on his nerves, Paris was looking for the dangers his intuition had alerted him to. With enough notification, he might be able to avert a disaster. Turning full circle, he swept the area before moving forward. A few feet later, he repeated the action. His diligence and caution eventually paid off. Raising his eyes from the screen, he pointed to the sky. "Look at that."

A bird soared above them, its impressive wings spread to catch the wind. Though more than four times its size, it resembled a swan. Mesmerized by its beauty and aerodynamic capabilities, Paris enviously followed the flight with his senses as well as his instruments.

"This is incredible," Kim rhapsodized, his eyes on the small screen of his tricorder. "Birds didn't appear on Earth for another two or three hundred years."

"It's a precocious planet," Paris facetiously remarked.

"Her nest must be close by," Stern theorized. "She doesn't seem to be too happy with our presence."

Drawing his phaser, Kim said, "If she gets too close we can stun her."

"In which case she'd fall and probably break her neck," Stern argued, putting her hand on the Ensign's weapon, deflecting it so it pointed at the ground. "You'd kill her and her children."

"How can you tell that it's a female?" Paris demanded, shading his eyes so he could study the avian.

"Because she's coming right for you!" Stern cried. "Hit the deck!"

A foot kicked Paris' legs out from under him, landing him in what could only be some animal's excrement. Gasping for breath, he watched as the security guard tackled Kim and threw herself on top.

The bird swept low. Paris felt a rush of air as she flew over him. A nail from her right claw snagged in the shoulder of Stern's uniform. Squealing in terror, the swan flapped her wings, stirring up the dust and ash of volcanic residue.

The particles invaded Paris' nose and throat, making him cough. Unwilling to kill a mother who was simply protecting her young, he opened the med kit and pulled out a laser scalpel. Powerful wings beat at him as he crawled forward. Throwing an arm up to protect his head, he used the laser to cut away the unyielding fabric of Stern's uniform.

As soon as she was free, the bird rose to safety above them. A square of gold fabric hung from a curved claw.

"Wow," Harry muttered, as Stern rolled off him. "I was hoping to get a closer look, but that was just a little too close for comfort."

Keeping a careful eye on the bird, Stern said, "Let's just hope she's scared enough to stay away."

"Let me look at your shoulder," Paris ordered, retrieving the med kit.

"It's just a scratch," Stern protested, clamping a hand over the wound.

"How can you tell? It's on your shoulder blade."

"It hardly hurts at all."

"The bite of a Sakar is initially painless until the victim collapses and dies in agony."

"You've got a great bedside manner, Doc," Stern complained, settling in a cross-legged position to give Paris easier access to the injury.

Paris smiled involuntarily and kneeled down behind her, "Remember who my teacher is." Taking out the scanner, he passed it over the wound before running it across the remainder of her torso.

"Hey," Stern remonstrated, pulling away. "The cut's on my shoulder."

"I just want to be sure other functions aren't being affected."

"They're not."

Kim anxiously hovered above them. "What can I do to help?"

"Go back to your readings," Paris informed the worried young officer.

"I want to do something," Harry protested. "Jessie probably saved my life."

Thrusting the dropped tricorder into unwilling hands, Stern said, "I was doing my job."

"Most enthusiastically, I might add," said Paris, his gaze resting on the excrement staining his pant leg.

"Next time I'll try to watch where I dump you," Stern playfully promised.

"I'd appreciate it."

Already caught up in his readings, Kim absently muttered, "Call if you need me."

"Don't wander too far," Paris cautioned. "Keep your eyes open for more surprises."

Apprehensive blue eyes followed Kim as he strolled away. The protective instinct in Paris yearned to call him back. Only the knowledge that he would embarrass his friend prevented him from doing so.

"How does it look?" Stern asked, trying to peer over her shoulder at the cut.

"It's just a scratch," Paris reported, pulling disinfectant and a bandage from his kit.

"I told you!"

Paris smiled at the disgusted tone. When his eyes rested on the scar circling the delicate wrist, he sobered. Gently brushing a finger across the welt, he said, "The Doctor could get rid of this for you."

"I don't want to get rid of it." Stern dropped her hand and pulled at the sleeve of her uniform until it covered the scar. "I don't want to forget."

"You won't," Paris confidently whispered. "It doesn't take physical scars to make you remember." 

Her hand shielding the visible sign of her disgrace, Stern quietly revealed, "I was on another away mission with another young ensign, much like Mr. Kim."

When the older woman fell silent, Paris gently pressed, "What happened?"

"He died," she succinctly replied. "He was my best friend's son. My godson. Starfleet acquitted me of any wrongdoing, but she didn't."

"Is that when you tried to commit suicide?"

"At the time, I thought it was the only way to stop the pain."

"Did it?"

"It just added new dimensions to my suffering." Stern's voice became rough with unshed tears. "I'd become a coward as well as a failure."

"What did you do?"

Stern sighed and straightened her shoulders. "Starfleet and I mutually agreed to part company. Space is the only place I ever wanted to be. The only place where I've found true happiness. I thought I'd find myself again fighting with the Maquis."

"Did you?"

"Did you?" Stern countered.

Paris sadly shook his head. "No."

"Neither did I," Stern admitted. A smile emphasized the wrinkles around her eyes and nose. "Would you believe I found it on a Starfleet vessel with a green, by-the-book partner?"

"I'm glad somebody has." Paris flinched when he noticed Stern's sad gaze resting on him. Putting away his equipment, he closed the medical kit. Swinging its long strap over his shoulder, he rose. "The cut doesn't look too bad. I've stopped the bleeding and given you an antibiotic, but you better have the Doc check it out when we get back."

"I will," Stern promised.

Averting his eyes, Paris assisted his patient to her feet. "We better catch up with Harry."

Green eyes seemed to bore into his back as Paris walked briskly away. He knew she had tried to ease his pain by revealing her own. What she didn't realize was that no living being could do that. His error had caused the deaths of three officers. He was responsible. The only thing he had in common with Jessica Stern was that they'd both sought salvation with the Maquis, only to return to the venue of their original failure - Starfleet.

* * * *

Controlled chaos reigned throughout Engineering. Janeway paused, regarding the scurrying crew with fascinated bemusement. Though Lieutenant Torres hadn't been her first choice to fill the deceased Chief Engineer's position, Janeway was glad that Chakotay had been so persistent. He'd forced her to judge the young Klingon on her skills rather than her temperament. It was evident that she kept her people on their toes.

Preparing to crawl up a Jeffries tube, Torres stopped when she caught sight of her superior. "Captain?"

"I'm here for a status report, Lieutenant," Janeway said.

"We found a ring in the coupling had weakened. It's been replaced. We're in the process of bringing the warp engines back up now." 

"How long before they're on line?"

"Just over an hour." 

Janeway gently massaged her temple with the tips of her fingers. "We'll be late for our rendezvous with the shuttle."

"I'm sorry, Captain," Torres apologized, "it's the best we can do."

"No need to apologize, Lieutenant," Janeway soothed. "If you hadn't caught that reading, the ship could've been destroyed."

Indicating the red-haired man at the main engineering console, Torres confessed, "It was Carey who brought the anomaly to my attention."

"Why didn't the safeguards set off the alarms when they detected the problem?"

"A gel pack leaked contaminating the field." Torres held up one of the offending items. "I was on my way to clean it up and replace the pack."

"When was the last time those circuits were visually inspected?"

Torres defiantly raised her chin. "0900 yesterday."

"They haven't been inspected for over twenty-four hours?" Janeway fought to keep her voice from rising. "I realize you may not be up on Starfleet protocols yet, Lieutenant, but one of them states that all circuits are to be visually inspected at least once every shift."

Gritting her teeth, Torres said, "I'm aware of the regulations, Captain, however, they were written for a fully staffed engineering department with fully operational equipment. I have neither. Every person on my staff has been pulling double duty since we were pulled into this quadrant. We can't even keep up with the repairs much less general maintenance."

Janeway held up her hands to calm the agitated young woman. "The work you and your team have been doing is beyond reproach. It's obvious, however, that you could use some assistance. As soon as Chakotay returns, I'll have him confer with the other department heads. In our present situation some personnel aren't being used to their fullest capacity. There must be a few warm bodies who could be trained to take over the basic duties freeing your people for the more difficult tasks."

"We'd appreciate it, Captain," Torres sighed, all her anger disappearing.

"Carry on, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Ma'am."

As Torres disappeared into the Jeffries tube, Janeway glanced around the spacious room trying to locate Lieutenant Carey. His vigilance had saved the ship. Though she hadn't chosen him to be her chief engineer, she still valued his abilities. He deserved to know that.

* * * *

As they turned onto the last leg of their search pattern, Paris felt like he'd walked thirty kilometers instead of three. His lungs fought for every breath of the humid air. His uniform, which he'd been assured could resist anything nature could present, was soaked with sweat. With every step he took, it abraded his skin, rubbing it raw.

Nothing unusual had happened since their encounter with the bird. Tremors still shook the earth periodically reminding them that the crust of the planet was still in development. Ash from an active volcano swirled around their feet. Their pant legs had turned gray from the layers of dust that tenaciously clung to the fabric. Paris couldn't remember the last time he'd been so miserable. To think, he'd actually volunteered for this! Checking the chronometer on his tricorder, he said, "We better pick up the pace, Harry. We wouldn't want the commander to leave us behind."

"He wouldn't do that," Kim argued, never looking up from his readings.

"Maybe not," Stern agreed, nodding her head. "However, I've seen him exact some rather interesting forms of punishment on recalcitrant officers. He has such an inventive mind. It must be the result of his Native American heritage."

"What kind of punishment?" Kim inquired, exchanging a worried glance with Paris.

"Have you ever heard of the Sun Dance?" Smiling mischievously, Stern crouched, hiding her expressive face in her tricorder.

"No."

"During part of the dance, a participant is pierced through the muscles of his back. Skewers of bone are inserted. Buffalo skins are tied to the skewers with thongs. The dancer drags the heavy skins until the flesh gives out." A quick glance showed the young ensign's horrified reaction. Biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud, Stern finished, "The next day the dancer has to run around the center pole of the lodge until he faints from exhaustion."

Aghast, Kim protested, "Starfleet wouldn't allow its officers to torture subordinates."

"Chakotay is Maquis," Stern reminded him rising to resume their journey back to the shuttle.

"He's Starfleet now," Kim countered, quickening his speed to catch up with her. "The captain wouldn't . . ."

"Harry," Paris interrupted, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. Unlike the security officer, he didn't try to hide his smile. "Jessie's pulling your leg."

Blushing, Kim stuttered, "I knew that."

"Of course you did."

"I may have exaggerated," Stern admitted, turning to regard the younger men, "but only a little. I remember . . ."

Paris' gaze shifted to the security officer, disturbed by the unfinished sentence. Stern's face had turned ghastly white. Unseeing eyes seemed to stare through him. Crossing to the woman's side, he eased her to the ground before pulling out a medical tricorder.

"What's wrong?" Kim demanded, kneeling.

Passing the tricorder over the limp form, Paris shook his head, "I don't know."

"What can I do to help?"

"Nothing." Paris closed the tricorder and returned it to its place in the medical kit. When he could finally speak, his voice was gruff and low, "She's dead."

"Why? How?"

"If I had those answers, I'd be a doctor," Paris snapped, suddenly finding it even more difficult to breathe than it had been. Guilt gnawing at him, he gazed down at pale lips forever frozen in the smile they'd been forming only minutes before. Jessie was dead. He'd failed yet another fellow officer who'd trusted him. "That bird must have excreted some kind of poison when she cut Jessie. I must've misread the tricorder readings."

"Tom," Kim shouted, "hit the deck! The swan's back!"

Despair slowing his reflexes, Paris hesitated before heeding Kim's warning. He could hear and feel the wings of the beautiful bird. He also felt pain as a claw scraped along the back of his right hand. Awkwardly, he pulled his phaser with his left. Checking to be sure it was on stun, he fired. The shot streaked across the sky, barely missing the huge avian. Screeching in fear and anger, she dropped her left wing and glided away.

His eyes following the bird's path, Kim gasped, "Are you all right?" When there was no reply, he shifted his position so he could see his friend. "Tom?"

"She cut my hand." Though he tried to sound nonchalant, Paris knew his fear was echoed in his voice.

"Is it bad?" 

"No. It's only a scratch."

The ground shook. Harder this time than it had previously. Paris protectively grabbed Stern's body and pushed Kim away as a crack opened a swatch of earth that ran to engulf him. An involuntary scream escaped his lips as he fell. It ended in a cry of pain when he came to a jarring stop on a ledge, his leg twisted beneath him.

"Tom?" Kim's frantic cry echoed through the new canyon.

Cautiously shifting Stern's body off his own, Paris groaned, "Here."

"Can you climb out?"

"Not a chance. My leg's broken."

Kim jumped to his feet, causing part of the fragile edge to collapse. "I'll go get help."

"Forget it," Paris calmly advised, brushing the dirt from his face. "We both know I'm already dead. Don't endanger lives trying to save mine."

"Damn it, don't you give up!" Kim swore. "I'll be back." 

Paris listened to the muffled footsteps until he could no longer hear them. He was secretly relieved that his friend hadn't seen the illogic of his actions. There was still a chance the doctor could find an antidote. Feeling nauseous from the pain in his leg, he dragged out the medical kit. The tricorder had been badly damaged in the fall, but the other contents appeared to be intact. Pulling out a hypo, he searched for a painkiller. As soon as it took effect, he snapped out the capsule and replaced it with cortopine. Belatedly, he realized he should have used the drug earlier. In this heat and humidity they all could have benefited from the stimulant.

With the drugs easing his physical pain, he finally let his gaze rest on the still form of Lt. Jessica Stern. He hadn't known her as well as he would have liked. Any chance to rectify that omission had been taken from him. He was almost grateful that there would be only a little time left to ponder his loss.

* * *

A safe return to the shuttle hadn't lessened Murob's diligence. Chakotay and Blake had decided to take additional readings of the area while they waited for the other party's arrival. Their eyes were focused on their tricorders, while Murob's scanned the skies and the ground. The only living thing they'd encountered was a rather irritating fly-type insect. Almost the size of a hummingbird, it buzzed around their heads almost deafening them.

The heavy breathing of an exhausted creature reached Murob's ears. Calling a warning, he pulled his phaser and dropped to a crouch. He felt stupid and embarrassed when he saw that the intruder was Ensign Kim. Berating himself for overreacting, he failed to realize that something was wrong until the commander pointed it out.

"Where are the others?" Chakotay demanded, crossing to Kim's side.

Fighting for each breath, Kim put his hands on his knees to support his overheated system. Raising sad eyes to his superior, he gasped, "Jessie's dead. Tom fell down a crevasse opened by that last quake."

"Is he dead?" Chakotay put a hand on Kim's arm.

"No." Using his sleeve, Kim wiped the sweat from his brow. "He landed on a ledge. The fall broke his leg, so he can't climb out."

"Murob get the rescue gear," Chakotay ordered. "Catch up with us as soon as you can."

Torn, Murob lowered his eyes as the commander strode off setting a rapid pace. With his greater lung capacity, Murob knew he'd have no trouble surpassing their speed. He just wasn't sure he wanted to. His partner was dead. Even without knowing the circumstances, he was certain Paris was responsible. Did he really want to help save his friend's murderer? Causing another being injury or death was the ultimate crime on his planet. Death was more desirable than a life haunted by such a deed. He would be doing Paris a great service if he ignored Chakotay's request. Yet, Murob admitted, he would also be disobeying an order. He could be court-martialed. The shame of such an occurrence would be too great to allow him to continue living. 

With great reluctance, Murob crossed to the shuttle and retrieved the rescue equipment. Jessie had taught him, no matter how he personally regarded a fellow officer, it was his duty to protect them. He would not dishonor her memory by doing less than she would expect of him. 

It was easy to follow the tracks through the soft volcanic ash. Much simpler than trying to appease his conscience. Moving quickly, yet carefully, Murob intercepted the remainder of the Away Team as they neared their destination. 

Murob held back as his companions rushed to the edge of the precipice. The uneasy looks on their faces made him believe it must be deep. Just as he was about to peer over the edge to judge for himself, the earth trembled sending them scurrying back. The sound of rocks and dirt hitting the distant bottom echoed through the still air.

"Paris, are you all right?" Chakotay called, cautiously returning to his original position near the edge.

"I'm still here," Paris reassured him. "This ledge is a bit smaller, however. If you have a rescue kit, I suggest you use it. Now!"

"Murob brought it," Chakotay explained.

The Cylopsian averted his eyes. With his superior metabolism, he knew he could have made better time. He only hoped that the commander didn't realize it.

Anchoring the lifeline, Chakotay released the thin cable. Leaning over the edge, he guided it with his hands. "Here it comes."

Belatedly joining his superior, Murob added his own considerable weight to the anchor. Glancing over the side, he saw Paris slipping the harness over Jessie's lifeless form.

"What are you doing, Paris?" Chakotay angrily demanded. "Stern's dead. Leave her."

"I can't do that, sir." Paris finished his task. "Pull her up."

"You're risking your life for a corpse," Chakotay said, his hand hovering over the rewind button.

"And you're wasting time," Paris retorted then added, "sir."

A brown finger punched the button with more force than was necessary. Seeming to take an interminable amount of time, the line slowly retracted. Murob's eyes followed his dead partner. He saw nothing else. Not even the dangers that could threaten his own life.

"Commander," Kim excitedly called, "the bird that killed Lieutenant Stern and wounded Lieutenant Paris is back."

"Don't hurt her," Paris said.

Chakotay solemnly studied the beautiful avian. "She's already killed one of my people. I won't let her kill again." 

"She's a mother protecting her young," Paris protested.

"So am I," Chakotay softly whispered. Raising his voice, he said, "Ensign Kim, keep an eye on her. If she makes any threatening moves, I want you to stun her."

"Yes, Sir."

Ignoring the dangerous creature, Murob eased Stern's body over the edge. Letting his gaze rest sadly on the lined face, he unhooked the harness and handed it to his superior. Dragging the body a safe distance from the edge, he didn't protest when Blake took his place at the anchor and assisted Chakotay with Tom Paris' rescue. He knew Jessie would be disappointed in him. Yet, not even that knowledge could induce him to abandon her.

Oblivious to what was happening around him, Murob rocked, mourning his loss. It wasn't until Blake gently touched his shoulder that he raised his eyes.

"It's time to go, Ensign," the young scientist urged, pointing in the direction of the shuttle.

His eyes vacantly drawn in the direction Blake had indicated, Murob saw Paris, aided by Chakotay and Kim, limping along the trail they'd formed only minutes before. It angered him seeing the man alive and well. Rising, he slung Stern's body over his shoulder and followed in their wake. He was aware of Blake walking beside him, her phaser drawn protecting them from the dangerous creature that flew overhead. She was doing his job. He no longer had the right to call himself a security officer. He'd shamed himself and his teacher.

The earth shook. Harder than before.

Paris fell to the ground as his Human crutches lost their balance. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. They'd risked their lives to save a dead man. He had no desire to make them feel guilty and add to their emotional pain.

"We better hurry," Chakotay suggested, scrambling to his feet. "I believe those quakes are getting worse."

"They are," Blake confirmed, one eye on her tricorder. "That one would've registered 8.7 on the Earth Richter Scale."

Spitting out the ash that rested on a bloody lip, Paris gritted his teeth as Chakotay and Kim pulled him to his feet. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe. He wasn't sure if he could attribute it to the humidity and their exertion or the poison that flowed through his veins.

An involuntary shudder racked his body. For the first time since he'd been scratched, Paris allowed himself to think of the brief future that lay ahead. Judging by what he'd seen with Jessie, it would be an easy death. More importantly, he would be functional to the end. With any luck, he'd have enough time left to fly the shuttle back through the asteroid belt and rendezvous with _Voyager_. Even as he faced his own mortality, he wasn't sorry he'd listened to the voice telling him to join this mission. He was only sorry that it would be his last.

* * * *

Janeway averted her eyes from the slow-moving chronometer. Minutes dragged, feeling like hours. It was already well past the time of their scheduled rendezvous with the shuttle. She could only imagine what was going through the minds of her stranded crew. Were they worried that something had happened to the ship or were they scared that they'd been abandoned? The mixture of Starfleet and Maquis crews, experienced officers alongside novices, made trust difficult. The intercom buzzed, drawing Janeway's attention.

"Warp engines are back on line, Captain," Torres breathlessly announced.

Her constant vigil told Janeway that they were ahead of schedule. "Well done, Lieutenant. My compliments to your staff."

"Thank you, Captain."

Turning to the helm, Janeway ordered, "Take us back to the rendezvous point, Mr. Townsend. Best possible speed."

* * * *

No longer able to bear the pain, Paris said, "Harry, would you get me the medical kit?"

As he waited for his friend to comply with his request, Paris stared anxiously out at empty space - the space where _Voyager_ was supposed to be. The shuttle had taken an awful beating in the asteroid belt, but had emerged relatively undamaged. Paris wished the same could be said for himself. His broken leg was only part of his discomfort. Every muscle and bone in his body ached. He wasn't sure if it was a result of being tossed around by the debris field or if his system was reacting differently than Stern's to the poison in his bloodstream. Subconsciously, he'd been hoping that the ship's holographic doctor would produce a miracle cure, saving his life. With each passing minute that hope diminished.

"Here's the medical kit, Tom," Kim said, laying the bag on the arm of the pilot's chair. 

Not trusting his voice, Paris nodded his gratitude. With shaking hands, he released the clasp and opened the lid. Pulling out a hypo, he dialed it to a pain killer before injecting the contents into his arm. Though the drug was supposed to act immediately, his pain diminished only slightly. Sweat rolled into his eyes almost blinding him as he replaced the hypo. Laying his head back, he closed his eyes. Death no longer scared him. It would be a welcome relief from the pain.

"Where the hell is Voyager?" Kim's angry voice demanded.

"Don't worry," Chakotay soothed, his eyes searching the empty space, "she'll be here."

"She wasn't supposed to leave."

"I'm sure the captain had a good reason for taking her out of orbit."

"Good enough to cost Tom his life?"

"Mr. Paris isn't going to die."

The fierce denial in the commander's voice eased Paris' spirit - if not his body. It would be nice if he could feel the confidence his superior felt. But he'd been the one who held Jessie as she died. He knew any chance he'd had disappeared when _Voyager_ failed to make the rendezvous. He felt no bitterness, only gratitude. At least he'd had a chance to redeem himself before he died.

"There she is." 

Blake's excited voice broke through Paris' suffering.

Though he wanted to, he didn't have the strength to lift his eyelids. His last view of the proud ship would have to be the image of her that he'd burned into his memory at their first meeting.

His voice showing the strain the mission had exacted, Kim said, "The EM particles are still interfering with communications."

"Ready or not, here we come," Chakotay calmly observed, taking over as pilot.

Paris felt the shuttle accelerate. His body no longer responded to the dictates of his mind. If it had, he would have told the commander to slow down. There was no reason to risk the lives of the remainder of the Away Team for his. It was a useless gesture. Nothing could save him now. He could almost feel his life slipping away like water down a spout. You could hold it back for a while, but eventually, you had to let it go.

* * * *

Nodding absently to a passing crewman, Janeway walked quickly down the corridor. She hoped that her distress wasn't visible. Though the accuracy of the reading was in doubt, sensors showed the shuttle contained only five occupants. The vehicle had landed before they were able to communicate. A brief unsatisfying exchange with her first officer elicited the fact that there had been a fatality and that someone had been badly injured. In a hurry to reach Sickbay, the commander hadn't taken the time to reveal the identity of either victim. Death hovered over the heads of every away team. Had his target been Tom Paris? Did the lieutenant listen to the wrong voice?

Pausing just out of range of the sickbay doors, Janeway took a deep breath. She was afraid of what she would find inside. Who would have guessed that a Maquis captain, an ex-con pilot and a green operations officer would become such an important part of her world?

A hesitant step forward generated a silent command opening the doors. Anxious eyes rested on the disordered figure of her first officer. Though a gray substance enveloped his uniform, he appeared unharmed. Ensign Kim stood next to his superior officer appearing equally disheveled. Both sets of eyes registered the arrival of their captain before returning to the still figure on a biobed.

Janeway blinked back tears. Speaking around the lump in her throat, she ordered, "Report, Commander."

His eyes remaining focused on the holographic doctor's ministrations, Chakotay relayed the events of the mission. His words were clear and concise creating an audio picture that made Janeway feel as though she were experiencing the mission first hand.

Red-rimmed eyes vivid against his pale face, Kim shifted his gaze to his captain, "Voyager wasn't at the rendezvous point. Tom could die because you weren't there."

Before Janeway could defend her actions, the Doctor announced, "Lieutenant Paris is not going to die. He may be sick and in a lot of pain for a while, but I guarantee he won't die."

"I don't understand." Kim shook his head in tired confusion. "How did you find an antidote so quickly?"

"As unbelievable as it sounds, Mr. Paris saved himself," the Doctor reluctantly confessed.

Drawing back in disbelief, Kim demanded, "How?"

"Actually," the Doctor amended, returning to his patient, "the broken leg is what saved him. To ease his pain, Mr. Paris gave himself shots of painkiller and cortopine. Though they weren't administered in the proper dosage it was enough to block receptor sites in the nervous system making it more difficult for the poison to kill him. It diluted it enough to merely cause him to be very ill."

A soft sigh of relief escaped Janeway's lips. "Then he'll be all right?"

"He'll be in pain, but he'll live. The poison attacked his central nervous system making him approximately fifty times more sensitive than normal. Painkillers have reduced the sensitivity to a tolerable level. One side effect will be that it'll take longer for his broken leg to heal."

"How much longer?" Janeway asked, crossing to the biobed and putting a hand on a still shoulder.

"I can't be sure," the Doctor said. "This is unlike any poison my programs have ever encountered. With further analysis, I might find a drug that will speed things along."

"Get on it, Doctor. Keep me informed." Turning her attention to Chakotay and Kim, Janeway said, "I'll see you both in my Ready Room as soon as you've cleaned up."

She didn't wait to hear their acknowledgment. Head high, she strode briskly from the room. She still had a dead officer to take care of. She hadn't known Stern well, but the Lieutenant must have been an exceptional person. Why else would Paris risk his life to bring her home?

* * * *

Something was wrong. His leg and hand throbbed with almost unbearable pain. Its presence confused him. Death was the absence of pain, both physical and mental. Yet, even as he contemplated the absurdity of what was happening to him, pain bore into his flesh - and his soul. A groan escaped his lips.

"Try not to move too much, Lieutenant," an emotionless voice admonished. "I set your fractured leg, but the poison circulating through your system is inhibiting the healing process."

He wasn't dead. It seemed impossible, but as far as he knew holographic doctors didn't go to Heaven when they died. If they died. Was it possible he'd gone to the other place? Now that he thought about it, the Doctor did bear a striking resemblance to his image of Satan.

"How do you feel, Tom?"

The soft concerned voice dispelled his fear. Kes would never do anything that would consign her to Hell. Gritting his teeth as another wave of pain radiated up his leg, Paris lifted eyelids that felt like they had twenty pound weights attached to them. Bright light stabbed at his partially opened eyes making him flinch.

"Sorry," Kes apologized quickly ordering the lights in Sickbay to a muted level.

Resting his gaze on the young Ocampa, Paris slowly shifted it to the Doctor, "Why am I still alive?"

"The drugs you administered to counter the effects of the broken leg were a partial antidote to the avian's poison."

Paris bit his lip in disbelief. He'd had the means to save Jessie all along. She need not have died.

A soft chime echoed around the room. "It's time for Lieutenant Stern's funeral," Kes observed. "May I go, Doctor?"

"Of course." The Doctor amicably smiled at his assistant before returning his attention to the monitors displaying Paris' readings. "I can handle things here."

"Thank you." Kes gently squeezed her patient's hand. "I won't be long, Tom."

The young woman had barely left the room when Paris confronted the healer, "I want to go to the funeral, too." 

"Impossible!"

"I was afraid you'd say that," Paris said, sitting up anyway.

"What are you doing?" the Doctor demanded, his characteristic calm disappearing. "You are not well enough to leave that bed, much less this room. If you do not lie back down immediately, I will call Security."

Fighting the nausea creeping up into his throat threatening to choke him, Paris swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Computer, deactivate the Emergency Holographic Medical Program."

The Doctor's mouth opened in protest. He disappeared before he could utter a single word.

Wrapping his blanket around his shoulders, Paris gingerly dropped to the floor. Pain radiated up his injured leg threatening to overwhelm him. Leaning against the bed, he took deep even breaths. When his vision finally cleared, he pushed away from his support. Grateful that the Sickbay replicators hadn't been placed under the same restrictions as their counterparts, he ordered a uniform. When it appeared, he took a laser scalpel and cut the tough fabric along the side of one leg. When he was sure he could get the jumpsuit over the brace the Doctor had wrapped around his leg, he dropped the blanket.

Though he was alone, he felt embarrassed. Praying that no one would need the Doctor's services for the next few minutes, he dressed as quickly as he could. By the time he'd finished, sweat beaded his brow. He felt like he'd run a marathon. Twice, he'd almost passed out. Both times, Jessie's smiling face drifted in front of him making him forget his discomfort.

Dragging his injured leg behind him, Paris crossed to the door. At first, he was puzzled when he met no other crewmembers in the corridors. When he realized why, he felt chagrined. Anyone who wasn't on duty was attending the funeral. Even those who didn't know Stern. Death was the ultimate equalizer.

Outside the torpedo bay, Paris stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow. There could be no visible sign of his suffering. He didn't want anything to disturb the solemn services within.

The doors were silent as they swished open to admit him. Though he'd tried to make an unobtrusive entrance, all eyes turned on him as he stepped inside. Ignoring the unwanted attention, he slipped into the honor guard lining the sheeted form. Seventy thousand light years from a supply depot prevented them from using photon torpedo casings for coffins. They hadn't the means of replicating the important defensive weapons.

Janeway had been speaking when Paris entered. She was the only one who ignored his unexpected appearance. He'd barely taken his position next to Kim when Janeway yielded to Chakotay. The commander spoke of Jessie's service to Starfleet and the Maquis. He regaled them with stories that told of her dedication to duty and her courage. As he listened, Paris wished someone would mention her compassion. It was an emotion most security guards tried to suppress, feeling that it made them appear weak. Jessie had wrapped herself in it like a warm blanket. She was the only person who had understood how Paris suffered. For the short time he'd known her, he hadn't felt so alone. It had felt good.

"Attention!"

The assemblage raised their bowed heads and squared their shoulders. Paris found that by leaning his shoulder against Kim, he could pull his injured leg under him allowing him to stand at attention. Tears threatened to blind him as he watched the shrouded body move slowly down the shaft. 

The airlock doors had barely closed behind the physical remains of the security officer when Chakotay said, "Dismissed!"

Only peripherally aware of the officers moving past him, Paris crossed to the port window. For a brief instant, lights from the hull illuminated the shrouded form as it was propelled into space. He stood staring vacantly long after Jessie disappeared.

"You killed her."

At first, Paris thought it was his own conscience berating him. It wasn't until a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around that he realized he wasn't alone. Fighting to keep his balance, he solemnly agreed, "I know I did."

"On my planet," Murob growled, "when one takes a life, it is customary to pay for it with his own."

"If I thought it'd bring Jessie back, I'd do it in a second," Paris sincerely vowed. 

"You can bring back her body, but you cannot bring back her spirit. You killed her. You must suffer for your sin."

"Believe me, I am."

Emerging from the shadows near the door, Janeway said, "Lieutenant Paris had nothing to do with Lieutenant Stern's death."

"He lives while she does not," Murob argued.

"You can call it fate, luck, karma, whatever word your people use to designate a coincidence," Janeway said, crossing to Paris' side. "A broken leg saved Mr. Paris. It's ironic; if Lieutenant Stern had been more seriously injured by that bird's attack, she might still be alive today."

Murob suspiciously regarded his superior. "Why do you protect him, Captain? He's killed before. Does he have to kill again before you'll see what he is?"

"That's enough, Ensign," Janeway ordered, her face flushed with anger. "I understand how traumatic it is to lose a partner. For that reason I'm willing to overlook your insubordination, this time. Return to your quarters. I don't want to see your name on the duty roster again until you can act like a Starfleet officer."

"Captain . . ."

"You're dismissed, Ensign."

Casting a last venomous glance in Paris' direction, the Cylopsian nodded, "Yes, Ma'am."

Paris turned to look out the window that had shown him his last view of Stern. "He was right, Captain. I did kill Jessie."

"When you gave yourself those shots," Janeway asked, "did you do so knowing they would save your life?"

"No."

"Then how can you be responsible for Stern's death?"

Paris opened his mouth to explain, only to discover that the argument was viable. He'd give anything to go back in time with the knowledge he had now and save Jessie's life. It wouldn't happen. It couldn't happen. If such a thing were possible, no one would ever die. There would be nothing to fear, but there would also be nothing to challenge the mind or the body. Life would become very dull. "If I'd listened to the other voice and stayed on the ship, I wouldn't be having these doubts," he whispered.

"Possibly," Janeway conceded, "but, it's also possible that both Lieutenant Stern and Ensign Kim would be dead. From the report I received, you were the first to notice the bird's presence."

"That didn't do much to save Jessie."

"True, but your warning made her act and she saved Mr. Kim. How do you think Jessie would've liked the scenario to play out? Whose life would she have wanted to save? Her own or Mr. Kim's? Your quick reaction during the earthquake saved Mr. Kim from falling into the same fault that almost claimed your life. What you've got to do is weigh his life against your guilt."

"What do you mean?"

"If you hadn't been there, Mr. Kim would possibly be dead as well as Lieutenant Stern - but you'd have no guilt. Which would you rather have - a friend or a clear conscience?"

"There's no contest."

Putting a hand on a tense shoulder, Janeway gently squeezed, "This isn't Caldik Prime all over again, Tom. No one blames you for Jessie's death, except you."

"And Murob," Paris quickly reminded her.

"He's young and in pain. He'll learn," Janeway unhappily sighed. "At the moment, he's Tuvok's responsibility. And you're the doctor's. I better get you back to Sickbay before he sends out a search party." Putting a shoulder under her subordinate's arm, the smaller woman started to lead him from the room. "Actually, I'm rather surprised he let you leave in your condition."

"He didn't exactly let me," Paris confessed. "I didn't give him any choice."

Janeway shook her head in exasperation. "I've got to talk to Lieutenant Torres about finding time to change the Doctor's programming. It's not good for discipline to have patients discharging themselves."

"I don't think it's going to be to the patient's advantage either," Paris said, grimacing from the physical pain of his injury. It was a pain that diminished as he contemplated the verbal thrashing he'd receive upon his return to Sickbay. "I have a feeling I'll be paying for this incident in more ways than one."

Reminded of her own experiences with the Doctor's temper, Janeway agreed, "I think you're right."


End file.
